


Pardon my French (Pardonnez mon français)

by Squeaky



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bad French, Français | French, Humor, Inspired By Tumblr, M/M, Pietro Maximoff is a Little Shit, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, but by accident
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:27:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27907453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squeaky/pseuds/Squeaky
Summary: Steve Rogers has a huge crush on James Barnes, the French-speaking, hot-as-hell customer at the café where Steve works. Steve doesn't speak any French, but that doesn't stop him from telling James that he's fluent.Steve turns to Pietro Maximoff, his multi-lingual colleague for help to teach him a French phrase so romantic that James won't even notice that Steve lied about being fluent.And even though Pietro's definition of 'romantic' is very, very different than Steve's, it shouldn't be a problem, right?
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 22
Kudos: 150





	Pardon my French (Pardonnez mon français)

**Author's Note:**

> This silly bit of fluff was inspired by [ this post on Tumblr. ](https://snowbarrysolicity.tumblr.com/post/626823915069734912/add-in-your-own-language=) It made me laugh so hard.
> 
> Beta'd by the supremely awesome [ Taste_is_Sweet. ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_is_Sweet/pseuds/Taste_is_Sweet) She made this fic better and laughed in all the right places. 
> 
> Translations are at the end of the fic as to not spoil the surprise
> 
> * * *

The Beautiful Man was back again.

Steve Rogers eyed him over the edge of the counter while he assembled the woman’s drink. She’d asked for five(!) shots of expresso and an equal number of pumps of hazelnut flavouring, as well as a fuckton of whip cream. Steve was sure he’d get diabetes just from holding the extra-large cup. 

But no matter how much sugar he was adding to the drink, it would never be as sweet as the Beautiful Man. 

He was sitting near the back of the café the way he’d done the first time Steve had seen him. His thick brown hair was long and hung soft and loose around his shoulders, creating a subtle frame for his gorgeously wide and sharp cheekbones. His nose was perfectly straight and proportioned, his mouth was sensual and a shade of pink that Steve just knew would taste delicious. He was tall and obviously fit, with ridiculously broad shoulders and thick thighs. But the most spectacular part of him were his eyes. They were a luminescent blue so light that they looked grey, as perfect as a newly-minted coin. 

Steve was totally, completely and utterly in love. 

Sighing like Juliette on her balcony, Steve handed the woman her ridiculous drink. He leaned his forearms flat on the counter, resting his chin on the back of his hands, just drinking the Beautiful Man in. 

Today, the Beautiful Man was sitting with a younger woman who was concentrating intently on what he was telling her. She had blond hair and very red lips, and every once in a while she’d nod and make notes like what he was saying was of the utmost importance. Steve wasn’t sure how she was able to concentrate on anything he said. Because he knew if he was in her position, he wouldn’t hear anything over the distraction of the Beautiful Man’s lips moving, and the pounding of his heart. 

Natasha Romanova, his co-worker and apparently his Yenta, nudged him in the side hard enough that he stumbled. “Go talk to him.” 

Steve’s face immediately blazed with embarrassment. “I can’t do that! He’ll know I was watching him!”

She rolled her eyes. “The whole café knows you’re watching him. Just go talk to him. It’s not a big deal.” 

“I can’t,” Steve said again. “Besides. He’s busy.” 

“Bring him a coffee. And the girl, too. She’s cute. You could get lucky either way.” 

The girl was cute, Steve acknowledged. “Think she’s his girlfriend?”

Natasha shrugged. “So what if she is?”

“I don’t want to hit on her boyfriend right in front of her!”

“You admit you want to hit on him!” Natasha said gleefully. “You totally should!”

“He’s busy,” Steve protested, but his heart wasn’t in it. He’d been lusting after the Beautiful Man since he’d first come in a week ago. He’d love to get the chance to know him better.

“Go.” Natasha nudged him again. “The place is practically dead. I can handle the counter and cash on my own.” 

“Okay.” Steve inhaled a shaky breath, but then squared his shoulders and drew himself up to his full height. It wasn’t much: he was only five foot three in thick-soled sneakers. But Steve knew he was good looking, with his big blue eyes and perfectly-proportioned tiny body. Maybe too many of his ribs showed, and maybe his spine was knobby, but he’d had lovers before and no one had ever complained. For sure Beautiful Man would be delighted by him. 

He quickly fixed his hair and straightened his apron, giving a quick inspection of the black cloth to make sure there weren’t too many unsightly stains. Once he felt he was presentable, he poured a couple of regular coffees and picked up one in each hand. “Wish me luck,” he said to Natasha.

“Go get ‘em, tiger,” she said in return. Which wasn’t exactly what Steve was hoping for, but good enough. He went over.

Beautiful Man and the woman were bent over her computer screen. Steve could immediately tell they weren’t speaking English. Well, they were speaking some English. Beautiful Man was clearly teaching her about whatever language it was she was trying to learn. They were sitting close enough together that their shoulders were touching, and Steve’s heart sank. Maybe they really were a couple.

“Try pursing your lips like this,” Beautiful Man said, without a trace of an accent. “It will make the _eu_ sound easier.” 

Steve was immediately distracted by the gentle movement of Beautiful Man’s lips. 

The woman noticed. “Um. Hi?” she said, forehead creased. 

“Oh, yeah.” Steve’s face heated. “I saw how hard you two were working and I thought you might like some coffee? On the house.” He gave them each a cup. 

Beautiful Man’s fingertips just brushed Steve’s hand as he took the offered coffee. “Thank you,” he said softly. His eyes were so pretty. 

“Um. Thanks?” The woman said with the same disdainful upspeak as before. She eyed the cup suspiciously before taking it with as few fingers as possible. 

The Beautiful Man’s beautiful mouth was marred with a frown as he watched her. He turned to Steve, and now his beautiful mouth curved up in a smile. “James,” he put out his hand. 

“Steve,” Steve said, shaking his hand thoroughly. He felt the warmth of his touch all the way to his bones. 

“ _Merci beaucoup pour le café, Steve._ ” James grinned.

“Oh, don’t talk to him,” the woman sniffed, directing her comment to James. “I’m sure he doesn’t know French.”

Her dismissive comment made Steve bristle. He focused on James like she hadn’t spoken. “Are you teaching her French?”

“I tutor part time at the university,” James said. “Loraine’s one of my students.” 

“One of your _friends,_ you mean!” She tittered in a way that immediately set Steve’s teeth on edge. “I’m practically your _petite amie._ "

Steve had no idea what Loraine had actually said, but he was sure he wouldn’t like it if he did. He decided to ignore her. “Are you a student there as well?” he asked James. “What’s your major? Because I haven’t seen you—”

Loraine glared at him. “Um. Thanks for the coffee? But I’ve got to get through this section before my next tutorial. French is a very hard language to learn.”

She was really pissing him off. He thought of his coworkers Pietro Maximoff, and his sister, Wanda, both of whom spoke several languages and didn’t seem to have had an issue with it. “No, it’s not.” 

“What?” Loraine said, at the same time James asked: “You speak French?”

 _Oh shit._ “I didn’t mean—” he started, ready to admit he’d been talking about his friends, when Loraine interrupted him. 

“Of course, he doesn’t speak French! French is a romance language, and just look at him!” 

The insult didn’t make a lot of sense, but Steve’s hackles rose. “You don’t think I can speak French?”

“I know you can’t.” She smiled, showing all her teeth. 

_Who the fuck is this bitch, telling me what I can and can’t do?_ “I speak French!” 

“I don’t think we need to argue—” James tried to cut in. 

“Really?” Loraine said to Steve, one well-shaped eyebrow rising up to her forehead. “ _Tu es un menteur._ ”

Steve didn’t have the first clue what she said, but it was easy to translate from her expression. “How dare you call me a liar!” 

“Say that in French,” she said. 

“Loraine!” James stuck out his hand to stop her from speaking. He turned to Steve, angry expression immediately morphing into one of apology and embarrassment. “I’m so sorry for the way Loraine is behaving.” 

“He started it,” she muttered. 

James shot her a censoring look. “It was really nice of you to bring us coffee,” he said, and his beautiful smile appeared again, like sunshine after a storm. “I hope I’ll get to talk to you some other time?” 

“I’d like that,” Steve said. 

“Maybe we could even speak French together?” James said. “ _Parce que je te trouve vraiment mignon._ ” His cheeks pinked. 

Loraine gasped and whirled on James, eyes blazing. She glared at Steve before laughing. “Don’t say things like that!” she whacked James on the arm. “It’s not nice!” 

Steve didn’t have the first clue what James had said, but Loraine’s words stung. He fled back to the counter. _Oh God,_ he thought frantically, _what did he say?_ He’d thought that he and James had been getting along, but maybe he’d been wrong? Why did Loraine laugh? Had James really said something mean about him? He wanted the ground to swallow him up. He wanted to die.

Natasha took one look at his face and dragged him into the storage room. “What the fuck happened?”

“He’s tutoring her in French. They speak French. He said something in French and she laughed and I don’t know what he was saying—” 

“Whoa!” Natasha put up her hands to slow Steve’s flood of words. “You think they were talking about you? in French? What did they say?”

“Something about a fillet mignon?” 

“That doesn’t sound right. Unless he was comparing you to a steak?”

Steve blinked. “Like, something you’d want to _eat?_ ”

“Could be. Like, maybe he wants to eat you. That doesn’t sound too bad.” Her smile turned wicked.

“Stop it.” He swatted playfully at her; his mood vastly improved from mere moments before. But then his mouth twisted. “What if that wasn’t it?”

“Ask Pietro when he comes in,” Natasha said. “Or Wanda. They speak like, what? Four languages?”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “At least that many. And you think they’ll know French, too?” 

“For sure they’ll know more than you.” She smirked. “Can we leave the storage room now?”

“You dragged me in here,” Steve muttered. They went back behind the counter. He glanced over to where James and Loraine were still working. James picked up his cup of coffee and took a sip, before looking over to where Steve was standing. He raised the cup in a silent toast, a small smile curving his beautiful lips. 

Steve felt the warmth of that smile all the way down to his toes. _He thinks I’m a yummy steak,_ he thought to himself. “I need to learn French,” Steve said out loud.

“You need to what, now?” Natasha looked at him curiously. 

“I need to learn French. I told him I speak French, and now I have to learn it. Otherwise, he’ll find out I don’t know it and he’ll think I’m a liar.”

“But you don’t speak French.” Natasha’s confused expression didn’t change. “So, you did lie.” 

“But I don’t want him to know that!” 

“He’ll know the second he tries to speak to you in French,” Natasha pointed out. “Like the filet mignon thing.” 

“Which is why I have to learn it!” Steve exclaimed. 

“I don’t think you’re going to be able to learn it that fast,” she said reasonably. 

Steve went to argue but then bit his lip. “Probably not.” 

“Just tell him the truth,” Natasha said. “You’re cute enough that he won’t hold it against you.” 

Steve took a moment to imagine James holding something against him. Like his big, fit body. He sighed dreamily before pulling himself back to the present. “No. I can’t risk it. I have to speak some French. At least a little. That way he’ll know I wasn’t lying.” 

“But you were lying.” 

Steve scowled at Natasha. “Not if I learn French, I won’t be!” 

She made a face. “You’re an idiot.” 

“No,” Steve said, warming to his idea. ‘I’m brilliant! I’ll learn to say something poetic. Something _romantic_ in French and say it to him. Like, the colour of your eyes is like perfect silver coins.” 

“Ooh, that’s nice,” Natasha said. “Or, your butt is like a perfect bubble of soap.” 

Steve looked at her. “That’s not romantic.” 

“I’m going to say it to Sam next time I see him,” Natasha said decisively. “But in English so he’ll understand.” 

“I’m really confused,” Steve said.

“Jeez, Steve,” she said, exasperated. “It was your idea.”

* * *

James and that horrible bitch Loraine left half an hour later, just as the afternoon rush started. Steve was so busy he didn’t even see them go. 

He sighed in misery as he added extra whipped cream to someone’s drink order. They hadn’t asked for it, but maybe extra whipped cream would make them happy. God knew someone should be happy in this cold, heartbreaking world. He passed it to the customer who beamed with happiness. Steve tried to smile back, but it was so hard.

“Who pissed in your gas tank?” Pietro said, sliding up to him at the drink bar. He was still tying his apron behind his back and he smelled faintly of cigarette smoke. The lineup had finally diminished to just a couple of people and Steve narrowed his eyes at Pietro. How he managed to always arrive just after the busiest parts of the day was a mystery.

“It’s cornflakes,” Steve said as he added some ice to the concentrated flavour mix at the bottom of the cup and then dumping it into the blender. 

“Someone pissed in your breakfast? ” Pietro said, horrified. “Is that an American thing?”

“It’s an expression,’ Steve frowned at him. “Like what you said about the gas tank. Only it’s what we really say.” 

“That wasn’t an expression,” Pietro said. “You looked mad enough that I thought someone had pissed in your gas tank. It happened all the time in Sokovia.” 

Steve stared at him. “I don’t own a car.” 

Pietro stared back. “Then why are you angry?”

“His boyfriend left without saying goodbye,” Natasha said as she started brewing a cappuccino on the opposite side of the bar. “His heart is broken.” 

“Your boyfriend left you?” Now Pietro looked dismayed. “Steve! I am so sorry!” 

“He’s not my boyfriend.” Steve glared at Natasha. “Stop talking bullshit.” 

“No wonder he’s not your boyfriend if you’re not committing to the relationship,” Pietro said. Natasha laughed.

“We don’t have a relationship!” Steve exclaimed. “One of the customers I think is cute left before I could say goodbye to him. That’s all.” He slid the iced Frappuccino over to the customer waiting for it, and she smiled sweetly at him. He smiled perfunctorily back before turning to his colleagues. “It’s no big deal.” 

“Clearly it is. Sadness is written all over your face.” Pietro waved his hand in front of Steve’s head. “You love him very much.” 

“I barely know him!” Steve stepped back from Pietro’s hand waving. “And besides, I don’t know if he likes me or not.” 

“He called you a steak,” Natasha said. “Of course, he likes you!” 

“It doesn’t mean he likes me!” 

“He called you a what?” Pietro was looking between the two of them. “How is that flattering?”

“I don’t really know what he said,” Steve admitted. “It was in French.” 

“Ah, _bien sûr,_ ” Pietro said sagely. “Tell me. I will translate.” 

“You speak French?” Steve said.

“Told you,” Natasha said smugly. 

“Of course,” Pietro said. “It is very similar to Latverian. I also speak Spanish and Italian. As well as Sokovian and Symkarian.” 

“You speak seven languages?” Steve’s mouth fell open.

“I am European,” Pietro said, like that explained everything. 

“He called him a fillet mignon,” Natasha said.

“He said something _like_ fillet mignon,” Steve clarified. “I’m not sure what he said.” 

“Fillet mignon?” Pietro stroked his stubbled chin thoughtfully. “Did it sound something like: _tellment mignon,_ or _vraiment mignon?_ Something like that?”

“Yeah!” Steve nodded his head. “That’s it exactly!” 

“Which one? Never mind. They’re mostly the same. He said he thought you were cute.” 

“He thought I was cute?” Steve smiled. “Really?” 

“Unless he doesn’t speak French and just wanted to call you a steak,” Pietro said. 

“He didn’t call you a steak,” Natasha said with certainty. “He’s totally into you. You should ask him out.” 

“But in French,” Pietro said. “I will teach you.” 

“That was kind of what I was planning,” Steve said. “To learn French.” 

Pietro titled his head. “Like, the whole language?”

“I kind of told him I speak it?” Steve’s face heated. He rubbed the back of his neck.

“That was stupid,” Pietro said. “He will know that is not true the minute you open your mouth.” 

“I know!” Steve admitted. “It’s just the girl he was with really pissed me off, okay?”

“Way to show her,” Natasha muttered.

“I cannot teach you the whole language,” Pietro said. “But I can teach you to say something romantic.” 

“But not your butt’s like a perfect soap bubble. That’s mine,” Natasha said.

“I will teach you!” Pietro said again, but this time with an expansive gesture of his arms. “Think of the romantic thing you would like to say, and I will teach you! And then he will fall so madly in love with you he won’t care you are a filthy liar.” 

“I will!” Steve said happily. And then, “Hey!” 

“Yeah,” Natasha agreed. “That one, perfect romantic thing to say to make this guy fall immediately, madly and passionately in love with you. So he won’t notice the lying part.” 

Steve swallowed. “I don’t know if I can come up with something that good.” 

“No pressure,” Natasha said.

* * *

The Beautiful Man—whose real name Steve really needed to think about using—came in the next day when Steve was also on shift. 

He’d taken a morning shift for Pietro, who claimed he had an exam. Steve wasn’t so sure (did Pietro even _go_ to school?), but he took the shift anyway. Pietro was going to supply him with free French lessons after all; he probably should make it worth Pietro’s while. 

But he hadn’t expected to see James. For a giddy second as he watched James enter, he wondered if James had come to the café for _him_. James came up to the counter, smiling broadly, his silver eyes glinting in the mid-October sun. “Hey, Steve. It’s Steve, right? I remembered that correctly?”

Steve glanced down at his apron where “Steve” was embroidered on the black fabric in bright green lettering. He grinned back at James, happy just to be staring into his beautiful eyes. “Got it in one.” 

“Oh, good. Usually I’m bad with names.” James smiled back, cheeks dimpling. 

_I bet you’re good with everything,_ Steve thought. “What can I get you?”

“Just a black coffee,” James said. He bit a tiny corner of his lip, making his hair fall forward. He looked nervous. Steve’s heart fluttered. This guy was just way too cute. 

“Anything else?” Steve asked as Bucky tapped his card to pay for the coffee. _Like me?_

“Um,” James said. “I was—”

A gaggle of teen girls came swarming in, talking loudly, and rushed to the counter. James stepped aside to let them order, an apologetic look on his handsome face. “See you,” he said. He took the coffee Natasha had made for him and was gone.

Steve barely had the chance to watch his perfect bubble-shaped ass leave the building before he was up to his eyeballs in the young women’s orders. 

“He was going to ask you out,” Natasha whispered to him as she went by to deliver someone’s danish.

“He was?” Steve startled, then had to apologize to the young woman when he realized he hadn’t heard her order. “Then why he leave?” He asked Natasha as she swung back around with another pastry. 

“Maybe he changed his mind?” she said with a cruelty he hadn’t expected of her.

He gasped. “Natasha!” 

“I’m joking!” She rolled her eyes. “He saw you were busy. That was all.” 

“Hmph.” Steve turned back to the till and rang up the last woman’s drink. “That’ll be eight fifty, please.” 

“He was really cute. I think you should ask him out,” the young woman said. Her visa card said her name was ‘Darcy.’ How’d someone so young get a credit card? “But you know, with like, flare and shit.” 

“Like, in French?” Steve asked her as he handed her the machine to insert her card. 

“French is cool.” She nodded. “Tell him he has a cute ass. Can I have a receipt?”

He handed her the slip of paper. “Cute ass? Really?” 

“Sure.” she shrugged. She moved down the bar to get her drink.

“I’m not going to tell him that,” he said to Natasha after the group of young women left and the café was suddenly empty. “Telling someone they have a cute ass is not the opening line I’m looking for.” 

“You’re missing a great opportunity, Rogers. Sam loved it.” She winked. 

“TMI!” Steve shouted. “I do not need to know about your sex life with Sam!” 

“You are so dramatic.” Natasha shook her head. “So, what are you going to say to Beautiful Man in French to get him to fall madly in love with you?” 

“I have no idea,” Steve admitted. “But it won’t be about his ass. No matter how great it is.” 

“Your funeral,” Natasha said.

* * *

“Tell him his eyes are like stars,” Pietro said.

“Don’t you think that talking about his eyes is too cliché?” Steve asked. It was the start of the afternoon shift and it was dead slow in the café. All the kids were still in school and the work day wouldn’t be over for a few more hours. Things would definitely pick up after three p.m., but right now you could throw a knife from the bar to the door and not hit anyone. Pietro had already tried it. 

“It’s clichéd because it’s romantic,” Pietro said, whipping another plastic knife at the door. It hit just above the doorhandle and ricochet into the garbage, as if he’d planned it. 

“He’ll just think it’s stupid.” Steve threw his plastic knife as hard as he could. It landed on the floor a foot away from the door and skidded underneath the condiments counter. He frowned. 

“No, he’ll think it’s romantic,” Pietro insisted. “Guys love it when you compliment their eyes.” 

Steve scowled at him. “You don’t date men.” 

“But I am one,” Pietro said smugly. “Compliment my eyes. You’ll see.” 

“They’re as green as a bottle full of sunlight,” Steve said. 

“Take off your pants. I want to suck your dick.” 

Steve scowled at him harder. “Shut up.” 

Pietro laughed. “I told you it would work.” 

“I want to say something _beautiful,_ ” Steve insisted. “Something that will make his heart melt.” 

“You’re overthinking this,” Pietro said. “He doesn’t need anything romantic. Tell him you want to fuck him. That’s all he’ll need to hear.” 

“No!” Steve crossed his arms. “Pietro, you’re not helping!” 

“Fine, fine.” Pietro raised his hands in surrender. “Okay. Something romantic, but not about his eyes. What do you want to say?”

“I want…” Steve paused, thinking. What would he want James to say to him, if their situations were reversed? While it would be nice to hear a compliment about his eyes, he knew he was good looking. It was low hanging fruit to say something nice about someone’s physical appearance and Steve wanted to do better than that. “I want to tell him I think he’s a beautiful person,” Steve said finally, face heating. “Yeah. That he’s a beautiful person and I’d like to take him out some time. On a date. That’s what I want to say.” He rubbed the back of his neck. His cheeks were burning.

Pietro was staring at him. “Really? He’s a beautiful person? That’s it?” 

Steve stuck his chin out mulishly. “Yeah. That’s what I want to say.” 

“There is no promise of sex in that.” Pietro crossed his arms. “He will not be interested.” 

“Well, maybe I don’t want a guy who’s only interested in sex!” Steve said hotly. “I want a relationship, Pietro, not just a roll in the hay!” 

“Why would you roll in hay instead of having sex?” Pietro said, confused. “Where would you find hay in New York City anyway?”

“It’s a euphemism for sex,” Steve explained. “I meant that I don’t just want to have sex with him.” 

“Why didn’t you just say that?” Pietro shook his head. “Americans. Okay. Fine. I will help you say he is a beautiful person,” Pietro said, looking like the words tasted bad in his mouth. “Give me a bit of time to translate it correctly.” 

“Bit of time…I thought you were fluent in French!” 

“I am _proficient_ in French, Spanish and Italian. I am _fluent_ in Sokovian, English, Latvarian and Symkarian. If I am going to teach you a whole sentence in French for you to woo this man, it must be perfect.” 

“Okay,” Steve had to agree. There was no sense saying the wrong thing to James and ruining the moment. He rubbed his hands down his apron. “So, when do you want to start the lessons?”

“I am off the rest of this week. For exams,” Pietro said.

“What exams?” Steve’s forehead creased. “My university doesn’t have exams until December.” 

“Your school is clearly not as hard as mine,” Pietro said.

* * *

James and Loraine came in on Monday, before Pietro had returned. 

They sat at the same table they had before, and seemed to be as equally as wrapped up in their lessons.

Steve tried to tend to the other customers, and keep up with the odd jobs around the café. But his attention kept getting drawn back to the two of them together: the way their heads would almost touch; their laughter; how close they were sitting.

“Do you think they’re dating?” Steve asked Wanda, Pietro’s sister. 

Wanda peered over the top of the coffee machine where she was steaming milk, to look into the café’s seating area. “Who?”

“The hot guy with the cute girl,” Steve said. “The one with dark hair.” 

“The guy or the girl? Never mind, I see them. Yes,” she said definitively. “They are definitely together.” 

Steve’s heart disintegrated. “You sure?” 

“Absolutely,” she said. “She has a ring and everything. And the fact she’s pregnant—”

“Pregnant?” Steve said far too loudly. Several customers turned to look at him. He smiled sheepishly at them and moved beside Wanda; drinks momentarily abandoned. “Who’s pregnant?”

“Her.” Wanda gestured with her chin towards a seated couple: a sweet-looking woman whose black hair was in a natural short afro style, and her husband, whose dark hair was short and tightly curled. They both had matching gold wedding bands on their left hand. She was obviously pregnant. They were very clearly not James and Loraine. 

“Not them!” Steve whispered. “Them!” He gestured towards James and Loraine, who were sitting at a table farther back. James looked up at that moment and smiled at Steve. Steve ducked behind the coffee machine, his short stature allowing him to completely hide behind it. Almost.

“Isn’t that the man you are learning French for?” Wanda asked as she craned her neck to see them at the back of the café. 

“How’d you know that?”

“My brother told me. He said you wanted to say something romantic. That’s cute.” 

“That’s what I thought,” Steve said. “Your brother thought it was dumb.” 

“He’s dumb,” Wanda said with authority. “But you should say this romantic thing to this guy fast. That girl is definitely making a play for him.” 

“No!” Steve stood on his tiptoes to see over the coffee machine, then moved to the side so he could see over the counter. Wanda was right: Loraine was leaning heavily on James, laughing at something he said. James was leaning back, but they were still too close for Steve’s liking. “Fuck!” Steve swore. “She’s totally making a play for him! What do I do?”

“Stop hiding here and go talk to him!” Wanda shoved at his shoulders. “No one is interested in a coward!”

“Okay. I can do that.” Steve stood straighter. He took off his apron and dropped it on the coffee bar. I’m on break.”

“Go get him, tyrannosaurus!” Wanda said, which wasn’t exactly the English expression, but Steve appreciated the sentiment. He stepped out from behind the bar.

And right into James’s broad chest.

“Careful!” James caught him by the shoulders, holding him steady until Steve had regained his feet. But with James’s hands on him, Steve’s knees felt terribly weak, like he was going to collapse straight into James’s strong arms…

“Oh. Hey, James.” Steve took a small step back so James could drop his hands. He tried not to visibly mourn their disappearance. “I didn’t see you.” 

“Where you headed?” James asked. “You seemed to be in a rush.” 

_To keep you from promising yourself to Loraine,_ Steve thought. “I’m on break.” 

“Yeah?” James’s face brightened. “Where you going?”

“Outside. For a walk.” They both turned to look out the window. The rain was coming down, thick and wet. It looked completely uninviting. 

“Really?” James said. “Because it looks terrible out there.” 

“Um.” Steve bit his lip. The café was more full than usual for a Monday afternoon, most likely because the foul weather had sent people running inside. There was nowhere for him to sit with James unless he wanted to join James at his table with Loraine. Which he certainly did not. 

“You could come sit with us?” James said, and the spark of hope in his beautiful grey eyes was Steve’s undoing. 

“That’d be nice, thanks,” Steve said, and followed James to his table. He had a feeling he’d follow James anywhere.

* * *

Loraine was not glad to see him. 

“Steve,” she said, her blue eyes flickering to James and back. “What brings you here?”

“He’s on break,” James answered. “And the weather’s awful, so I thought he could sit with us for a bit.” 

“Oh, because of the weather,” Loraine said. “That makes sense.” She moved so that Steve would have to sit nearer to her than to James. 

Steve pulled the chair around so he was sitting on James’s other side. _Take that._ He smiled at Loraine, all teeth. 

“Are you in school?” James ask Steve, just as Loraine said: “We should get back to the future-perfect,” which made them both laugh awkwardly. 

“Steve’s only got a short break,” James said to her. “We can pick up the French in a minute.” 

“Fine,” Loraine said, like it really wasn’t. She sat back in her chair; arms crossed. 

“I’m studying art history and art restoration, actually,” Steve said, feeling strangely shy to say that to James. He was really proud of what he was studying, as well as the artistic techniques he was learning to save precious paintings. But most people didn’t see fine arts degrees that way. He hoped James wasn’t one of them.

Clearly, Loraine was. “Good luck getting a job with that.” She sneered. 

“Art restoration? That’s amazing!” James said, proving he was perfect and Loraine’s opposite in every way. “I saw a documentary on that once. Tell me, is it true that…”

And they were off. James was an avid listener and incredibly interested in everything Steve had to say. He was funny and smart and any opinion he shared was intelligent and educated. Steve couldn’t remember the last time he’d had such an enjoyable conversation, and far too soon someone was tapping on his shoulder to get him to return to work.

It was Pietro. “ _Salut,_ ” he said to James and Loraine, “ _Est-ce que tu as du plaisir à parler à mom ami?_ ”

“ _Oui,_ ” James said, at the same time as Loraine said: “ _Non._ ” 

Pietro chuckled and winked at Loraine. “I’m sure you are not the first one to feel that way about it.” That made her laugh and she dimpled prettily at him, gazing up at him through her eyelashes. Steve couldn’t blame her. Pietro was tall, built and sexy as fuck. He’d tap that if he could take Pietro’s personality for more than six hours at a time. Pietro turned to Steve. “Wanda needs you behind the counter. I’m going to take my break.” So saying, he grabbed the chair that Steve had just vacated and sat down, leaning in close to Loraine, who tittered. 

“Well, bye,” Steve said to the table, but really to James. “Thanks for keeping me company.” 

James stood. “It was fun,” he said, those incredible grey eyes full of warmth. “Maybe we could hang out again some time?”

“That’d be great,” Steve said, smiling so wide his face hurt. 

“Steve, a little help here!” Wanda called. 

“No rest for the wicked,” Steve joked. He started walking backwards towards the counter. James watched him every step of the way, like Steve were heading off to war instead of to the afternoon rush. 

Steve went behind the counter and put his apron back on, sighing heavily. 

“That went well,” Wanda said. “But I am dying here, and my lazy ass of a brother is off flirting with that woman whom you hate. So, you need to stop mooning at your boy and make some drinks.” 

“I don’t hate her and he’s not my boy!” Steve said as he pulled up the list of drinks waiting in the queue.

“Right,” Wanda said. “Did you get his number?”

“Not yet.” Steve glanced over to where Loraine, James and now Pietro were sitting. James met his gaze and smiled. Steve smiled back, feeling his confidence soar. “But I will.”

* * *

Steve’s confidence was less high two days later when James hadn’t returned. 

“Do you think he’s okay?” Steve worried his bottom lip with his teeth. 

“How should I know?” Pietro didn’t look up from where he was adding ground coffee to the portafilter basket. He jammed it into place in the group head with probably a bit more force than necessary. Then he shoved a cup underneath and smacked the switch to “on”, glaring at the machine as he brewed.

“Doesn’t he usually come at this time?”

“How should I know?” Pietro said again, before he yanked the oat milk out of the small fridge and got it ready to steam. “I am not one of the many people obsessed with him.” 

“Shut up,” Steve said without heat. Then: “Do you think something bad has happened?”

“No,” Pietro said with gratifying immediacy. “The weather sucks and exams are coming up in a couple of weeks. He’s probably just inside, studying.”

Steve glanced out the window to the street. All the colours were muted and dull, washed in the grey light of the fall afternoon. It looked chilly and wet. Definitely the type of day where anyone in their right mind would want to be inside with a cup of something warm and a good book. It made perfect sense that James would be one of them. “You’re probably right.” Steve sighed, disappointed he wasn’t going to see James. “Maybe he’ll come by tom—”

“Or he is no longer interested in you,” Pietro continued without waiting for Steve to finish. “And he is now having wild sex with that blonde woman you hate.” 

Steve blinked. “Wait, what?”

“He is having sex with the blonde woman,” Pietro repeated helpfully, “because he isn’t interested in you. Because you do not speak French.” He slapped the drink he’d made down in front of a man who barely smiled his thanks as he took it. Pietro glowered at his back. “Next time I will spit in your drink,” he muttered.

“You really think he’s with her?” Steve bit his lip, heart dropping. He hadn’t really gotten the impression James liked her all that much, but maybe he’d misread the whole situation? “Because I don’t speak French?”

“Maybe French is very important to James,” Pietro said. “And the blonde woman speaks it, But, you do not.” 

“He doesn’t know that!” Steve said. “I told him I did, remember? And besides, you said you were going to teach me!” 

“I thought you didn’t want to learn anymore.” 

“Why would you think that?”

“Because he is already having sex with Loraine,” Pietro said. The steamer made a loud _hissing_ sound and Steve winced. Pietro always managed to make the milk substitute sound like it was dying. 

“He’s not having sex with Loraine,” Steve said with more confidence than he felt. “He wouldn’t.”

“Why not? She is beautiful and willing. For him. Even though I speak many more languages,” Pietro muttered. He poured the steamed milk into a cup and slammed on a lid before handing it off to a customer with a glower. 

“She’s not very nice,” Steve said.

Pietro looked at him. “Why does that matter?”

Steve frowned. “Because personality is important?”

“He is not sleeping with her personality,” Pietro said sagely. “But who knows? Maybe I am wrong.” 

“Of course you’re wrong!” Steve said vehemently, “James is the sweetest, _nicest_ person and he’d never want to date a bitchy blonde just because they’re cute!” 

“It’s lucky you’re not bitchy, then,” James said.

Steve whirled; hand clutched to his chest. “ _James?_ ”

“Hello, Steve.” James smiled at him. “And no. I’m not having sex with Loraine.” 

Steve shot Pietro a triumphant look before what James said hit him and he blushed so hard he thought his hair would burst into flames. “You were listening the whole time.” 

“Not the whole time. Just the part where you defended my honour.” James leaned his forearms on the counter, which caused his sweater to stretch enticingly across his broad shoulders. His smile was a tantalizing combination of charming and sexy that Steve just wanted to kiss off his face. 

James turned to Pietro. “ _Puis-je l’emmener faire une pause?_ ”

“ _Si tu veux,_ ” Pietro said to James. He turned to Steve. “James wants to take you on a break. You can go. I will take care of the customers.”

Naturally, there were no customers in the café, which was why Pietro made the offer, but Steve wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. “Thanks!” he said happily. He ditched his apron and had joined James on the other side of the counter in the next moment. 

“Hey,” James said, voice soft and eyes sparkling. 

“Hey,” Steve said back, his stomach fluttering. James was so beautiful. 

“Sit down, since James is not having sex with Loraine, I will bring you coffee.” Pietro grinned at them. 

Steve chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. “Ignore him,” he said as he led James to a table near the giant window, “Pietro says all sorts of dumb shit.” 

“I don’t mind.” James sat beside him, close enough that their knees touched. “And call me Bucky.” 

“Bucky?” Steve asked, confused. “What’s that?”

“My nickname. Had it since I was a kid,” James—actually Bucky—said. “It’s what my friends call me.” 

Steve thought back to when he’d first spoken with Bucky, and how Loraine had only called him James. _Take that, you blonde bitch,_ he thought. “I can do that.” He smiled.

“Good.” Bucky smiled back, looking into Steve's eyes. 

“Good,” Steve repeated. He pressed his knee into Bucky’s. 

Bucky pressed back.

* * *

“He asked for my number!” 

Pietro looked up from where he’d been playing _Among Us,_ on his phone. “Congratulations!” 

Steve’s brow creased. “Was that sarcastic?”

“Why would I be sarcastic in your time of great joy?”

“Are you being sarcastic _now?_?”

“He is not sarcastic, he is just being stupid,” Wanda said. She hugged Steve. “I am so happy for you!” 

“Thanks! I’m really excited!” Steve hugged her back. 

“You should be,” Pietro said, not looking up from his phone. “He is very handsome. Fuck! I have been voted out.”

It was still early enough in the afternoon that the café was mostly empty. The handful of patrons were on their computers, empty cups beside them. It was peaceful and serene and completely opposite the way Steve felt inside: like fireworks were exploding in his chest, lighting his heart with colour. 

“Go take over cash for me,” Wanda said to Pietro. He made a face at her, but pocketed his phone and headed to the cash. She turned back to Steve. “So, tell me everything!” 

“Not much to tell,” Steve said, although his heart was still pounding in excitement. “We sat and talked for a bit. And then he had to leave. But right before he left, he asked for my number! He even texted me!” He held up his phone to show her the latest addition to his contact list: _Bucky Barnes_.

“This is so great!” She clapped her hands in delight. “When is your first date?”

“I don’t know.” Steve bit his bottom lip. “But I want it to be special. Because _he’s_ special. You know?”

“Especially hot, you mean!” Pietro said as he meandered back over. Wanda shot him a look and he just shrugged. “I will go back if someone is buying something.” 

“Not especially hot,” Steve frowned at Pietro. “Special. Like…” He was almost afraid to say it out loud.

“Like, true love special?” Wanda said quietly.

“Yeah.” Steve nodded. “Like, like this guy could be the one.” 

Wanda shrieked and hugged Steve again. “I am so happy for you!” 

“Me, too,” Steve hugged her back. 

“If he is the one, you need to make sure your first date is perfect,” Pietro said musingly. “He also needs to know you are the one for him.” 

Steve titled his head, thinking. The only place that Bucky had ever seen him had been in the café. They’d had great conversations, but Steve knew the black apron and uniform t-shirt didn’t show him at his best. Bucky always looked so pulled together, while the best Steve could say was that his uniform wasn’t horribly stained with spilled coffee. Pietro was right. Their first date really needed to knock it out of the park. “Where should we go?”

“The French restaurant down the street,” Pietro said immediately. “The food there is very good.” 

“You mean _Étoile du Nord_?” Steve instantly pictured the small and highly fashionable restaurant. It was decorated with vintage sensibilities, making it look like something from the 1920s, if the 1920s had wifi, dimmer switches and air conditioning. Steve had often peered in through the windows on his way to work, imagining what food served on white linen that crisp would taste like.

“ _Oui,_ ” Pietro said. “You should take him there.” 

Steve thought of the price and winced. “You think he’d like it? It’s awful expensive…” 

“He will love it. He is French,” Pietro said with total certainty. “And come on a day I am working. It will not cost so much then.” 

“You work there?” Steve asked. 

“Yes,” Wanda said. “We both do. It is our, what do you call it? Side gig.” 

“It is decided,” Pietro said. “You will invite him to Étoile du Nord for your date. And you will speak French.” 

Steve panicked. “Holy shit! I told him I speak French! I can’t take him to a French restaurant! He’ll know I lied!” 

“Tell him the truth. He won’t care,” Wanda said reassuringly. 

Both Steve and Pietro looked at her with identical expressions of incredulity. “He’ll know I _lied_ ,” Steve said again. “He’ll break up with me for sure!” 

“He cannot tell him the truth. Not until they are married and he cannot escape,” Pietro said. He looked at Steve. “I will teach you just enough for you to fake it.” 

“Yeah!” Steve agreed. “Teach me the romantic sentence I asked you to before, remember? That will work!” 

“Yes,” Pietro said. “I remember. I will teach you something to say to him that will distract him so much he will not care that you do not speak French.” 

“Perfect,” Steve said, relieved. “I’ll distract him with something so romantic that he’ll never realize I don’t speak more French than that.” 

“Until you are married,” Pietro said. 

“Or you could tell him the truth,” Wanda said. “Steve, you can’t just lie to him!” 

“I’m not lying,” Steve said. “I’m just making him wait until I tell him the truth.” 

“Like for your wedding night,” Pietro said. 

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “Like that.” 

* * *

Steve practiced the sentence Pietro taught him over and over until he could say it perfectly. He didn’t know what each word meant, but Pietro had promised him that it would get him exactly what he wanted from his date with Bucky. 

“He will love it,” Pietro had assured him. “It is very romantic, and exactly what he will want to hear.” 

Steve had to agree. When Pietro told him the translation he’d literally gasped with pleasure. It was exactly the sentiment he’d wanted to convey. Pietro had gotten it perfectly. 

He shifted his weight from foot to foot, consumed with nervous excitement as he waited for Bucky in front of the restaurant. Wanda and Pietro were both working that night, and had promised him a discount, which meant all he had to worry about was impressing Bucky. With Pietro’s perfect sentence in his back pocket, he wasn’t feeling too worried at all. Especially dressed the way he was. 

He was wearing a shawl-collared cardigan in a blue-grey colour over a white t-shirt and skinny tan jeggings with six-hole brown boots. It was the nicest fall outfit he had, and he knew it made his eyes look incredibly blue and showed off his delicate proportions. It was a bit chilly in the wind, but he was fine with suffering a little if it meant he won Bucky’s heart. 

Especially if the path to that heart was through Bucky’s rather magnificent body. 

And speaking of his magnificent body…Bucky had arrived, nearly exactly on time. 

“Wow,” Steve said, taking in Bucky’s outfit. “You look _amazing._ ” 

Bucky was wearing black boots, black jeans, a black t-shirt, and a military-cut jacket in a navy so dark it might as have well been black. The whole outfit set off his wide shoulders, narrow waist and sculpted legs. He looked like he should’ve been walking down a runway instead of up the sidewalk to meet Steve. 

“You think so?” Bucky said, colour staining his cheeks. 

"I really do,” Steve said. He paused. “Did you cut your hair?” It was obvious Bucky had. The long strands that had brushed his shoulders had been shortened and styled to something classy and modern. Steve instantly loved it. 

“Yeah.” Bucky touched his head self-consciously. “Do you like it?” 

"I love it,” Steve said honestly. “I didn’t think you could look better than you already did, but clearly I was wrong. “ 

Bucky smiled widely at the compliment. “I was hoping you’d like it. You look fantastic by the way. That sweater really brings out your eyes.” 

Steve beamed at him, giving himself a mental high-five for Bucky having noticed. “This old thing? I just threw it on.” 

Bucky laughed and took his arm. “May I escort you to the North Star?” 

“What?” Steve said, having been made totally stupid by the feel of Bucky’s hand on his biceps. 

“'Étoile du Nord' means 'Star of the North', or 'North Star',” Bucky explained as he held open the door for Steve to enter. 

“Oh yeah, right,” Steve said quickly. “Guess I forgot because of how pretty you are.” 

Bucky laughed delightedly. “I think you’re really pretty, too.” 

“Welcome to Étoile du Nord,” Wanda said as they came inside. She was wearing a sleek black dress and her hair was pulled up into a French braid. She looked sophisticated, sexy, and very different from the woman Steve knew from the café. “Do you have a reservation?” 

“Steve Rogers,” Steve said with a wink. 

She winked back. “Your table is ready, gentlemen. This way.” She led them to the back of the restaurant to a two-person table set in a private corner, out of the way of foot traffic. It was perfect. 

“Thank you,” Steve said, heartfelt. Pietro had given him the perfect thing to say, and now Wanda had given him the perfect setting for his date. His coworkers were absolutely the best. She handed them the menus, told them their waiter would be by shortly and left with an enticing swing of her hips. Steve hadn’t known she had it in her. 

“This place is really nice.” Bucky looked around admiringly. “I’ve never eaten here, but I’ve always wanted to.” 

“Same,” Steve said. “This seemed like the perfect opportunity.” 

Bucky grinned, teeth flashing pearly white in the low lighting. He reached over and took one of Steve’s hands where Steve was holding his menu. “Thanks for bringing me here.” 

“Thanks for coming,” Steve said, then blushed even though the sentence wasn’t remotely close to a sexual innuendo. 

Bucky rubbed the back of Steve’s hand with his thumb, and then just held it while they reviewed their menus. Steve squinted at the words, wondering if he needed a new prescription for his contacts, when he suddenly realized why he had no clue what he was looking at. Everything was in French. 

_Fuck,_ he thought desperately. He had no clue what to order. Bucky was going to find out he couldn’t speak a word of French, and even worse, that he lied about it. He cleared his throat. “Uh…” 

“I just realized I don’t know anything about what you like to eat,” Bucky said. “Like, do you eat meat at all?” 

“I eat meat,” Steve said. An image of him sucking on Bucky’s dick popped into his head and he blushed again. He really needed to get his brain under control. 

Bucky smiled like he knew exactly what Steve was thinking. “What kind of meat?” 

“I like chicken,” Steve said. “But anything, really.” 

“I bet you’ll really like this _canard à l'orange_.” Bucky pointed to a dish on the menu. “It’s duck with an orange sauce. My mom used to make that for us on special occasions.” 

“I’ll definitely try it then,” Steve said, which was when their waiter arrived. Of course, it was Pietro. He looked ridiculously handsome in a white button-down shirt over slim black pants, with a grey apron tied at the front that went down to his knees. No one should have made that uniform look good, but Pietro made it look stunning. 

“ _Bonsoir,_ " Pietro said in perfect French, and then rattled off a whole bunch of other stuff in the same language that Steve didn’t have a hope in hell of understanding. 

Bucky grinned at him and responded in kind, and Steve sat back in his chair feeling grumpy and left out. He knew all he’d have to do would be to admit he didn’t speak a word and they’d switch to English, but he couldn’t do that and still have Bucky like him. Bucky didn’t seem the type to be happy that he lied. 

Both Bucky and Pietro had gone quiet and were looking at him expectantly. “I, uh, didn’t catch that,” Steve said with a crooked smile, hoping he looked cute rather than clueless. 

“ _Monsieur_ has ordered the red house wine. Would you like the same?” Pietro said, hands clasped together in the picture of excellent customer service. It was only the laughter creasing his eyes that let Steve know that Pietro thought his ignorance in the French language was totally hilarious. It was probably why he’d suggested that Steve take Bucky there for a date. The bastard. Steve narrowed his eyes at him, which only increased Pietro’s silent laughter. 

“I’d like the white,” Steve said prissily. He never drunk wine. It was too much of a luxury on his student budget, but he’d heard somewhere that white wines were more citrus, and citrus apparently went with duck, so it seemed as good a choice as any. 

“Good choice,” Pietro said, sounding like would’ve said the same thing no matter what Steve had ordered. He turned back to Bucky and rattled off more French words, then left. 

“The waiter looks familiar,” Bucky said with a small frown. “And now that I think about it, the hostess did, too. Don’t they work at the café with you?” 

“Actually, they do,” Steve said. “Pietro suggested we should come here.” 

“I hope he’s giving you a discount for suggesting that!” Bucky laughed, “this place is pricey.” 

It was Steve’s turn to take Bucky’s hand. “You’re worth it.” They held each other’s gaze, and Steve revelled in the moment: in the delightful feeling of mutual attraction and where that might lead. Bucky licked his lips and Steve’s gaze was immediately drawn to the movement, to the graceful bow of his mouth and how good it would feel slanted over his own. He forced the thought out of his head. They’d just sat down to dinner, now was not the time for kissing. Although he really hoped it would come up sooner rather than later. 

Pietro reappeared with the wine and presented it with more flourish than two small glasses deserved. He took their orders, entirely in French and entirely from Bucky, and then left. 

“I never got to ask what you were studying,” Steve said after he’d sipped his wine and drunk in Bucky’s beauty. “Are you majoring in French?” 

“Linguistics, actually,” Bucky said with a broad smile. “And if you think people bug you about not having a job when you’re done your degree…” He shook his head ruefully. 

“I know, right?” Steve agreed readily. “It’s like, all these people go to museums and read books, and watch plays and shit, but they don’t seem to understand that someone gets _paid_ to do that.” 

Bucky nodded his head in agreement. “Everyone thinks that the only way to get a job is with a business degree. But there’s so many other things to learn. Why don’t they see that?” 

“I don’t get it,” Steve agreed. “It’s either study business or science, like no one understands that even business people need art for their offices and logos for their multi-billion-dollar companies. And seriously. Who the fuck actually wants to study science?” 

Bucky laughed. “I have a few friends who are science majors, so I’d have to argue with you on that one.” 

Just then Pietro and another server arrived with their food. The duck smelled delicious and Bucky and Steve paused their conversation to try their meals. Bucky was eating something called _boeuf bourguignon,_ which smelled excellent as well. 

“You have to try this. It’s meat cooked in a wine sauce.” Bucky offered a piece of meat skewered on the end of this fork. Steve paused, mouth near the end of the fork, waiting to confirm if that’s what Bucky wanted him to do. Bucky gave a small nod of his head. It was all the permission Steve needed. He leaned forward and took the piece of beef into his mouth, looking up at Bucky through his eyelashes. 

Bucky swallowed. “Did you like it?” he asked, voice low. 

“Very much.” Steve wiped the corner of his mouth with the pad of his thumb, even though he knew nothing was there. He just wanted to watch Bucky’s pupils widen with desire. Which they did. 

Steve laughed, enjoying the intense attraction building between them, and the silver light in Bucky’s eyes. He leaned forward, putting his chin in his hands. “Is French your first language?” 

Bucky paused, forehead lined with thought. “I guess? It’s my mother’s first language and she only spoke French to me and my sister when we were little. I don’t remember learning either English or French, so I guess I learned them together.” He stabbed another piece of his heavily-sauced meat. “And how about you?” 

“Oh, I’ve picked it up a little here and there,” Steve said breezily. It wasn’t exactly a lie. He had only picked up a little. It was time to change the subject. “So, why linguistics?” 

“I’m good with languages, as you might have guessed,” Bucky said with a self-depreciating shrug. “And it’s really interesting, learning about how the brain hears sound, but it’s the mind that gives that sound meaning. Human brains are actually hardwired for language. Did you know that?” 

“No,” Steve said honestly. “Tell me more?” So, Bucky did, regaling Steve with information and anecdotes about his studies. Steve was fascinated, not only with what Bucky was saying, but how he was saying it. He loved learning about this man. He was totally infatuated and completely smitten. He never wanted this night to end. 

Except for how much he really, really wanted to get into Bucky’s pants. 

The conversation flowed through their main course through to dessert. Bucky declined anything sweet. 

“I can’t order dessert if you’re not having any,” Steve complained as Pietro stood by. 

“Have some.” Bucky smiled indulgently. “I want to watch you eat it.” The heat in Bucky’s expression went right to Steve’s groin. 

“I will bring the house special. With two spoons,” Pietro said and left. 

Steve smiled back at Bucky, as sultry as he could make it. He was really looking forward to dessert and he didn’t just mean the one Pietro was bringing him. 

* * *

"God, you’ve let me talk to much,” Bucky said as he sipped his after-dinner coffee. “This is supposed to be a date, not a linguistics lecture!” 

"I like it,” Steve said. “You’re so passionate about what you’re learning. I like it. It’s nice.” 

Bucky leaned over and took Steve’s hand again. His smile was inviting and warm. “I like you.” 

Steve put down the spoon he’d been using to eat the vanilla _pot du crème_ that Pietro had brought. He smiled at Bucky’s sweet yet romantic declaration. He wanted him to know that the feeling was definitely mutual, and that Steve really hoped this first date would turn into many, many more. It was the perfect time for him to say the words Pietro had taught him. He met Bucky’s gaze. “ _Je veux que tu t’étouffes sur ma bite._ ” 

Bucky went perfectly still. The hand holding Steve’s tightened. “Do you really mean that?” 

Steve could not figure out what the expression on Bucky’s face meant. “Yes?” he said helplessly. He’d meant every word. That’s why he’d asked Pietro to teach it to him. But Bucky’s reaction wasn’t quite what Steve was expecting. Maybe he wasn’t into grand romantic gestures. 

“Okay.” Bucky nodded fiercely. “Okay. Yeah. I can do that.” He raised his hand. “Check please!” 

Pietro was over in a flash and handed the bill to Steve the way they’d already agreed. Steve pulled out his wallet to give Pietro the pre-determined amount that he’d already gotten from the ATM. 

“We’re good,” Bucky said, dropping what looked to be about $150 dollars on the table. “Let’s go.” He took Steve’s elbow and practically hoisted him out of the chair, propelling him to the front of the restaurant before Steve could even blink. Wanda watched him go, mouth open in surprise. 

“Bucky?” Steve said, totally confused, “what?” 

“You can pay next time,” he said as he flagged down a taxi. _Next time,_ Steve thought, joy and excitement bubbling through him. Bucky wanted to go out with him again! He was so happy. It took him a second to come down from that burst of happiness to realize that Bucky had shuffled him into a taxi and they were now headed somewhere. Bucky had his hand just above Steve’s knee, and was pressed against him from shoulder to hip. When Steve looked up at him, Bucky’s smile was luminous. 

“Where are we going?” Steve asked after losing himself in Bucky’s beautiful eyes for several blocks. 

“My place,” Bucky said. “If that’s okay? I didn’t ask! I should’ve asked. I’m sorry. I’ll tell the driver—” 

“It’s okay!” Steve said quickly, before Bucky dissolved into a puddle of guilt. “Going to your place is fine. I promise.” 

Bucky’s relief was palpable. “As long as you’re sure?” 

“I’m sure.” Steve leaned into him. 

“Good,” Bucky said. “Because…because I really want to make you happy.” 

“You do make me happy,” Steve said, feeling a little breathless from the intense look in Bucky’s eyes. 

“I’m glad,” Bucky said. He lifted Steve’s hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it. It was the most romantic thing that Steve had ever experienced. He wanted to rip off all of Bucky’s clothes. He felt like he was going to swoon. 

“How soon until we get to your place?” Steve asked faintly. 

“Soon,” Bucky said. He put his arm around Steve, hugging him against all that hard muscle. “Soon.” 

* * *

Steve’s whole body was tingling with anticipation by the time they reached Bucky’s apartment. He wasn’t quite sure what the other man had in mind, but he hoped it was going to involve a lot more kissing and a lot less clothing than what was occurring now. 

He got his wish. 

Steve found himself pressed up against the apartment door as soon as Bucky closed it behind them. “I’ve been wanting to do this all night,” Bucky breathed before attacking Steve’s mouth with his own. Steve groaned, welcoming the sensual assault. Bucky was an excellent kisser, persistent but also respectful, responding to every shift in Steve’s lips. 

Somehow Steve managed to divest himself of his sweater and his boots without disconnecting his mouth from Bucky’s. Bucky shed his coat and kicked off his boots, and then picked up Steve, gripping him by the back of his thighs so Steve had to wrap his legs around Bucky’s waist and his arms around Bucky’s neck or risk falling. His cock was stiff and pressing comfortably into Bucky’s hard abs, the rest of his torso flush with Bucky’s chest. He was so turned on he felt lightheaded with it, like he was floating off the floor instead of being held by Bucky’s strong arms. 

Bucky’s strong arms took him down the short hallway to what was obviously his bedroom. Steve just noticed a room tastefully decorated in warm shades of grey. The bed was even made, which immediately won Bucky all the points. Steve couldn’t remember the last time he’d made his bed. Then Bucky was placing him on it and Steve forgot how to think. 

Bucky let Steve go, and Steve whimpered. Bucky laughed as he pulled his black t-shirt over his head. 

Steve’s mouth went dry. 

All the sculpted muscle that Bucky’s clothing had hinted at was now on full display. The man was gorgeous: every dip, every line looked like it’s been crafted by a master artisan. Steve reached out his hands to touch. 

Bucky knelt on the bed, knees on either side of Steve’s waist. “Take off your shirt.” His voice was husky with need. 

Steve complied. He knew he was a lot thinner than Bucky, and while he had his fair share of muscles, they were more wiry then the classic beauty Bucky presented. Insecurity flashed through him and he crossed his arms over his chest. 

Bucky was staring at him, pupils blown wide. “You are the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen,” he said reverently. “Can I touch you?” 

“Please,” Steve breathed, insecurity forgotten as Bucky’s hands slid up his abdomen and across his chest. His palms scraped over Steve’s nipples and he shivered. He thrust his hips as desire sparked deep in his groin. 

Bucky noticed. His hands went to the button of Steve’s pants. “Can I?” he panted. 

Steve could only nod and Bucky deftly undid the button of Steve’s pants and had his pants, underwear and socks all off in the next moment. “You’re stunning,” Bucky said. He knelt by the side of the bed, in between Steve’s legs. Steve noted the close proximity of Bucky’s beautiful mouth to his cock. His cock noticed too and bobbed with excitement. Bucky bent over so that his breath ghosted over the sensitive tip. “ _Je veux te sucer à sec,_ ” he murmured. 

“Please,” Steve moaned. He had no idea what Bucky said, but he really, really hoped it had something to do with Bucky’s mouth and his leaking penis. 

His hope was granted. Bucky devoured his dick, swallowing it down so that Steve felt it hit the back of Bucky’s throat. Steve’s eyes grew wide with the shock of pleasure and the surprise that Bucky could take him all in. Steve might have been a small man, but his penis was anything but. Bucky was taking him like a champ. Bucky’s eyes teared up but he didn’t stop. It was like he took that as a challenge and sucked harder, his cheeks hollowing. 

Steve moaned in pleasure, hands flexing in Bucky’s hair. He tried to keep still but he couldn’t stop the forward movement of his hips. Bucky hummed in pleasure, and the vibration went straight to Steve’s cock. “Jesus,” he whimpered. “I’m so close.” 

Bucky lifted his mouth off, turning his attention to licking and nibbling the tender skin surrounding Steve’s throbbing cock. Each gentle scrape of Bucky’s teeth felt like a jolt of electricity. The tip of his penis was leaking, and Bucky lapped up the pre-come, tongue soothing and arousing all at once. 

“You taste so good,” Bucky said before diving back onto Steve’s dick and sucking it down again. Steve cried out, pleasure arching through him, hips coming off the bed. 

“Oh my God, Bucky!” he cried, “I’m gonna come!” 

Bucky pulled his mouth off of Steve. “Not like this, you ain’t.” He stood, wiping his mouth with the side of his hand, grinning wickedly. 

Steve watched, aching with desire, as Bucky took off all his clothing below his waist. Everything about him was absolutely gorgeous, including his penis: standing straight out in front of him like a flag. “You…you look…” Steve stuttered. For an artist, he was having a lot of trouble finding words to describe Bucky’s beauty. 

Bucky grinned like he knew exactly what Steve meant. He opened the drawer in his bedside table and pulled out a condom and a small bottle of lube. “I wanna fuck you, Steve,” he said, voice wrecked. “Can I?” 

“Uh huh.” Steve nodded dumbly and rolled over, quickly grabbing one of the pillows and shoving it under his thighs. 

“God, you’re just gorgeous,” Bucky breathed. He ran his hands over the round curves of Steve’s ass, squeezing gently, making Steve groan. He parted Steve’s cheeks, and Steve felt the sudden chill of the lube running over his hole. He shivered. 

“Shh,” Bucky soothed. He ran his fingers over the puckered opening, working the lube inside with one finger. Steve whimpered and pressed back against Bucky, wanting more. Bucky laughed. “Greedy.” 

“For you,” Steve panted. “Just for you.” 

“I like to hear that,” Bucky said. He kissed Steve’s shoulder blade and then went back to his ministrations, easing his finger in and out of Steve. Steve felt the increased stretch as Bucky slipped a second finger in and he gasped, his cock leaking onto the bed. 

“Please,” he whined. “Fuck me, Bucky. _Please!_ ” 

"Give me a sec,” Bucky said. 

The wonderful feeling of Bucky’s fingers in his ass disappeared and he heard the crinkle of the condom package getting ripped open. Just when he thought he was going to lose his mind from how turned on he was, he felt the soft, insistent pressure of Bucky’s penis against his opening. He sighed in relief. 

“Open for me, darling,” Bucky said, pressing forward. 

Steve groaned, pushing back and willing himself to make a passage for Bucky to enter. Bucky eased into him, and Steve gasped with the sensation of Bucky’s cock hitting deep in his most sensitive places. “Bucky,” he wailed. “ _Bucky!_ ” 

“I got you,” Bucky grunted. He set up a slow, steady back-and-forth rhythm, hands gripping Steve’s hips. Steve thought he was going to go mad from the inexorable pace. His cock was aching from the need to come: tension building and building with each thrust of Bucky’s cock. Steve tried to wiggle his hips, to move himself on Bucky’s penis, but Bucky’s grip was firm and he couldn’t move. “Do you want to come, Baby?” Bucky whispered. 

"Please,” Steve sobbed. He spread his legs to try to get Bucky in deeper. “Please!” 

Bucky reached around and gripped Steve’s penis, rubbing and squeezing tightly as he thrust hard and fast into Steve’s willing channel. It took only a moment for Steve to come, shouting out his pleasure as his whole body tightened and shuddered with his release. 

Bucky cried out in the same moment, and Steve felt him pulsing inside him as he came, sparking aftershocks of pleasure that bordered on pain. 

Bucky collapsed onto his side on the bed, taking Steve with him so Steve’s back was flush with Bucky’s front, his penis softening inside him. Gently he slid out of Steve, tied the end of the condom and dropped it on the floor before cuddling with Steve again. “Jesus,” Bucky muttered. “That was fucking incredible.” 

“So incredible,” Steve agreed. “Better than incredible.” It was probably the best sex Steve had ever had in his life. He’d only known Bucky for a short time, but he already couldn’t imagine his life without him. 

“I’m really glad I met you, Steve,” Bucky said softly. He hugged him tighter, his hand resting over Steve’s heart. 

“Me, too,” Steve said, putting his hand over Bucky’s. _I love you,_ he wanted to say, even though he knew it was way too soon. But he knew what he could say, thanks to Pietro. “ _Je veux que tu t’étouffes sur ma bite._ ” 

“You really are greedy, aren’t you?” Bucky laughed. “Give me a couple minutes to recover first, okay? Then we can do it again.” 

That…was not the response to a heartfelt declaration of love that Steve was expecting. Had he mispronounced it? He wanted to ask Bucky what he’d said, but that would immediately let him know that he’d lied about speaking French. _Just tell him the truth,_ Natasha had told him. _You’re cute enough that he won’t hold it against you._ Steve knew he was plenty cute, but was he cute enough that Bucky would ignore him lying? 

“Steve?” Bucky said, jostling him a little. “You okay?” 

“I don’t speak French!” Steve blurted, then squeezed his eyes shut, terrified of possibly seeing Bucky’s expression, even though Bucky was behind him. 

To his surprise, Bucky laughed hard enough that he ended up on his back on the bed, still laughing. 

“Bucky?” Steve said, half sitting up so he could see Bucky’s face. “What’s so funny?” His mouth curved up in the expectations of sharing the joke. 

“I know you don’t speak French.” Bucky chuckled. “I’ve known it from the first moment I met you.” 

Steve gaped at him. “You did?” 

“You didn’t understand a damn thing either one of us said,” Bucky said with a smile. 

“I told her not to call me a liar,” Steve said, miffed. He knew he’d lied, but he was annoyed that Bucky had seen through it so easily. He’d been _trying_ damnit. 

“Lucky guess.” Bucky was still smiling. “I thought it was really cute, actually. How much you wanted to impress me.” He took Steve’s hand. 

“I wasn’t trying to impress you,” Steve harumphed. “Loraine is a bitch.” 

Bucky laughed again. “She sure is. God, I hate tutoring her, but she pays me a lot of money.” 

“So, you’re not mad?” Steve snugged into Bucky’s chest, pretty sure he already knew the answer. 

“Well, I prefer that lying not become a permanent part of our relationship. But, no, I’m not mad.” 

_Permanent part of our relationship._ Steve really liked how that sounded. “It won’t,” he said. “I promise.” 

“Good.” Bucky stroked up and down Steve’s side. “Because I’d really like that. A relationship. With you.” 

"Me, too,” Steve said, face split in a grin. Then he frowned. “What did I say to you, anyway?” 

“That you wanted me to choke on your dick,” Bucky said. “Isn’t that what you thought you’d said?” 

“Fucking Pietro!” Steve swore. 

* * *

“So,” Steve said as casually to Wanda the next time they were together on shift. Do you think “ _Je veux que tu t’étouffes sur ma bite,_ is a good thing to say on a first date?” 

Wanda spit out the water she’d been drinking. “Who the hell taught you that?” 

“Your brother.” Steve narrowed his eyes at where Pietro was flirting with a woman at the cash. 

“He’s such a bastard.” Wanda wiped her mouth with her sleeve. “Let me guess. You asked him to teach you something romantic, and he taught you that, instead?” 

“Got it in one,” Steve said, “and if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to kill him.” So saying, he went up to Pietro, grabbed him by the arm and dragged him into the storage room. 

“Hey!” Pietro protested, shaking his arm out of Steve’s grip. “What are you doing?” 

“Remember the romantic French sentence I asked you to teach me to impress Bucky? Remember that? What you taught me wasn’t even remotely romantic!” Steve shoved him. 

Pietro barely had to catch his balance. “But, did it work?” 

“What do you mean, _work?_ ” Steve said. “What would work about that?” 

“Did you have sex?” Pietro asked. 

Steve immediately blushed. “None of your business.” 

“It did work!” Pietro crowed. “I told you that men don’t need romantic bullshit! They just want sex.” 

“The fact it worked doesn’t change the fact you tricked me!” Steve pushed him again. “Pietro, I thought we were friends!” 

“We are friends!” and now Pietro actually looked wounded. “How could you say we are not friends?” 

“Because you tricked me into asking for a blow job on a first date?” Steve said, incredulous. “Friends don’t do that.” 

“But I got you laid!” Pietro said, forehead creased. “How is this a bad thing?” 

“Because it’s not what he asked you for,” Natasha said as she came into the storage room. “The fact it worked is secondary.” 

“Oh.” Pietro turned to Steve. “I am very sorry that I tricked you, even though it worked in your favour.” 

Steve rolled his eyes. “Apology, such as it was, accepted.” 

“Congratulations on your blow job, though,” Natasha said. “Sounds like you had a good time.” 

“I did, but not because of the blow job!” he said quickly before Pietro could start looking smug again. “Bucky’s a great guy.” 

“You are welcome,” Pietro said expansively. “And I am very happy for you that your relationship has started with such a good foundation of sex.” He sauntered out of the storage room. 

“I’m not going to thank you for the fact that Bucky and I had sex!” Steve called after him. “And it was the best sex of my life, by the way and you definitely do not deserve the credit for that—oh hey Bucky.” His face flamed. 

“Best sex of your life, huh?” Bucky smirked. He leaned on the counter, red Henley tight around his ridiculously amazing biceps. He looked so hot it almost hurt. “You on break?” Bucky asked before Steve could stutter out an answer. “Because I’d love some company while I wait for my student to show.” 

“I’m on break,” Steve said immediately, even though a small lineup had started. He quickly hung his apron up in the storage room and joined Bucky at the table in the back, taking his hand. 

“I missed you,” he murmured against Steve’s fingertips. 

“I saw you yesterday,” Steve said, a little breathlessly from Bucky’s actions. 

“Still.” Bucky grinned at him. “You busy later?” 

“Nope,” Steve said, returning his grin. He had a couple of assignments to finish, but he could do them some other time. Right now, he was busy falling in love. He shifted so that he was closer to Bucky and kissed him on the lips. 

Bucky kissed him back with his usual level of skill and enthusiasm and Steve was panting by the time he stopped for air. “Hey,” Bucky asked, “I’ve been wondering. What was it exactly that you wanted to say to me? You know, instead of—” 

“I know what you mean,” Steve cut him off, cheeks colouring. Bucky laughed at his discomfort. 

"I liked what you said,” Bucky said, grin turning into something more wicked. “You can say that to me anytime.” 

Steve swallowed. “I just might,” he said, and Bucky kissed him again. 

“Seriously though,” Bucky said when he’d released Steve’s lips for the second time. “What did you want to say?” 

“That I wanted you to have a home in my heart,” Steve said. His breath caught as he waited for Bucky’s reaction. 

“Oh, wow,” Bucky said, eyes wide. “That’s really what you wanted to say?” 

“Yeah.” Steve nodded. He took Bucky’s hand, drowning in the ocean of his eyes. 

Bucky bit his lip and dropped his gaze, before lifting his eyes to Steve’s again. “I want that, too.” 

Steve felt like his heart was going to explode with happiness. He surged up and captured Bucky’s lips, tangling his hand into Bucky’s hair. Bucky kissed him back, equally as enthusiastically. 

Which was the way Loraine found them when she came in for her tutoring seven minutes later. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” She screeched at them. 

“French kissing,” Steve said smugly, and Bucky laughed and laughed. 

**Author's Note:**

> French translations in order of appearance:
> 
> Merci beaucoup pour le café - Thank you for the Coffee  
> Petite Amie – girlfriend  
> Tu es un menteur - You’re a liar  
> Parce que je te trouve vraiment mignon - Because I find you really cute  
> bien sûr - Of course  
> Salut. Est-ce que tu as du plaisir à parler à mom ami? - Hello! Are you having the pleasure of speaking with my friend?  
> Puis-je l’emmener faire une pause? - Can I take him for a break?  
> Si tu veux – if you want  
> Bonsoir - Good evening  
> Monsieur – Mister/sir  
> Je veux que tu t’étouffes sur ma bite - I want you to choke yourself on my cock  
> Je veux te sucer à sec – I want to suck you dry


End file.
